Soaring
by psychochick1
Summary: Castiel has already defied both Heaven and Hell. What's a little creation and physics-bending in the grand scheme of things? Dean/Castiel.


Castiel gazes down at Dean while he sleeps, fingers running gentle strokes down the long lines of his back. It still amazes him. _Dean _still amazes him, with an ever-growing fascination.

He remembers cradling soul-light close, hand placed just _here, _as he flung them both out of the Pit, stink of blood and sulfur choking him. He knows how it feels to hold that soul so delicately, wary that a single misstep would break that fragile soul burning so bright through ash. He remembers hiding it deep in rotted flesh, then pouring his Grace in until Dean was whole and perfect again. He remembers how it felt to knit this muscle and skin and bone back together, giving rebirth out of desecration, restoring a masterpiece of his Father's creation.

Being a creature of spirit, Castiel hadn't understood – couldn't, really – just how intimate their first meeting was. To connect to that soul, to grasp it tight enough to leave his brand, felt natural to him, in a way that was irretrievably dulled in their next meeting, both of them shrouded in meatsuits and all the frailties therein. In some way he felt cheated, having to battle the recalcitrant flesh to get a glimpse of the light he knew shone inside.

He was so ignorant then. He wonders if all angels have such blinders towards humanity. They probably do. It took Castiel's own destruction and rebirth on top of months inside his vessel before he started to appreciate just what his Father had created.

He knows better now.

This is still so very new to him, to cradle Dean close while enclothed in flesh himself, to feel skin on skin, millions of nerves lighting up at their touch. To touch his body and feel his soul – the closest Castiel has come to that feeling is the exhilaration of letting his wings loose and spiraling out into the stars.

Dean finds his wings fascinating. The few times Castiel has let them loose and visible to human eyes, Dean watched them, awe and wonder and what Cas eventually realized was envy in his eyes. Like last night.

Cas smiles to himself, recalling the look on Dean's face as Cas rode him, wings flaring out across the dingy motel room. Dean couldn't take his eyes away, refusing to even blink, an expression of such vulnerability and child-like wonder in every line of his body at odds with their actions. He finally closed his eyes as he shuddered with climax, and Castiel followed him, drawing him up to kiss him deep, wings wrapping around them both.

Dean had shivered at the touch, moaning softly as ethereal feathers drifted over his skin, as if remembering their caress from when Castiel had pulled him off the rack. He buried his fingers in Cas's wings, seemingly amazed that he could touch them, grip them firmly as he hauled Cas in even closer.

Their mouths parted long enough for Dean to pant, breath whispering over Cas's skin, "What's it like to fly?"

Well, why not? Castiel has already defied both Heaven and Hell, not falling so much as sauntering vaguely downwards into becoming more human. What's a little creating and physics-bending in the grand scheme of things?

Calling forth what little of his power remains, Castiel runs his finger down Dean's back firmly, tracing two lines along the edge of his shoulder blades. The skin ripples, splitting painlessly as bone and muscle attach and shape, stretching above them both, skin and feathers blooming over the frame. Newborn wings shiver and settle into place, flocked in burnished gold.

At least, that's what it looks like to physical eyes. But Cas can see deeper, see how they're more than just feathers mantling Dean. Created out of desire, they're extensions of Dean's soul and will, not the white of purity but forged in fire until iron-strong and shining. An inextricable part of him formed into new shape. They fit him as naturally as his own skin.

Dean shifts slightly in sleep, wings fluttering gently before one cautiously drapes over Cas, keeping him close. He makes a soft noise of contentment and subsides, feathers blanketing them both in warmth.

Pleased, Castiel settles back, idly stroking along the feathers as his own wings cover Dean's. He can't wait to take Dean flying with him.

As he listens to Dean breathing, his heart beating under Cas's hand, he wonders what Sam's wings will look like. He knows they'll be just as beautiful.


End file.
